


Working Away

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: The Ambush series [9]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Strike is away with work. Will he be tempted to stray? ;)





	Working Away

Strike limped slowly into the bar of the hotel. His leg ached from standing all day. His navy Italian suit felt constricting, the stiff white shirt collar chafing. At least he hadn’t worn a tie. He made his way over to the long mahogany bar and sat on a stool, sighing with relief as he took the weight off his leg. His knee still felt constricted, but at least it no longer actively hurt. He could hardly remove the prosthesis here, and he was determined to enjoy the numbing effects of a few pints of bitter before he made his way back to his solitary room.

The bartender moved to greet him and he ordered a pint. He took his phone from his pocket while he waited, checking to see if he had any messages. There was one from Robin, and he smiled, his heavy heart lifting a little. He missed her.

“Hey, gorgeous. Give me a call when you get back to your hotel. Rxx”

Strike smiled, and dialled her number. He imagined her in his flat, curled up in the easy chair in leggings and a jumper, watching telly. Maybe nursing a cup of tea. Her hair would be loose around her shoulders, he thought, and the image was so vivid, he longed to be there with her, running his fingers through silky red-gold tresses, and not stuck in this impersonal hotel bar, with soft piano music playing and hushed conversations lending an air of formality.

“Hello,” her warm voice answered, and he grinned.

“Oh, it’s good to hear your voice,” he said. “Good evening.”

“How was the racing?”

The bartender placed a pint in front of Strike and he nodded, sliding his key card across to charge the tab to his room.

“Boring. I had to stand almost all day. Leg’s killing me. Couldn’t really see any racing because I was stuck in the bar schmoozing. Most of the corporate types are there to be seen, not to actually watch the horses. I miss you.” He took a long, welcome pull of his pint. Not bad, for hotel beer. He signalled for another. He wanted to drown his exhaustion and loneliness this evening.

He could hear the smile in her answer. “I miss you too,” she said softly. “I’m heading to bed soon, wish you were here to go with me.”

An image of her in his bed floated into Strike’s head and he sighed. “So do I,” he said. “I’ve had enough of sleeping on my own in a boring hotel room.” The second pint appeared at his elbow. He took another long pull of the first, almost finishing it.

She laughed, softly. “So don’t,” she said. “There must be plenty of women about who’d gladly go with you.”

Strike frowned. “What are you talking about?” he said. “Don’t be silly.” He removed the phone from his ear for a moment and looked at it, puzzled. This didn’t sound like Robin.

She laughed. “I’m teasing you,” she said. “But, you know, if you wanted a hall pass... I’d probably never find out anyway.”

He scowled. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said, irritably. His leg hurt, he was tired and lonely, and he was in no mood for games.

“Okay, but just so you know, I’m officially giving you permission,” she said, giggling a little. “I’m off to bed. Good night.”

“Night,” he said, shortly, and hung up. He put his phone down on the bar a little more forcefully than he had intended, and glared at it. The conversation had unsettled him. What did she mean? They had never specifically said that their relationship was exclusive, but he had assumed... A sudden, unwelcome image came into his head of Corporate Guy in Robin’s half of the office, leaning back in his chair with an air of confidence that the rich often had, his snappy suit fitting his slim form perfectly. Corporate Guy had started turning up for face-to-face meetings quite often rather than just phoning, had clearly taken a shine to Robin. Surely she couldn’t be hoping for reciprocal permission to...? Strike shook his head. Of course not. He was just tired and irritable and missing her. He took a long drink of his second pint.

“Is this seat taken?” a husky, seductive voice from behind him, a hint of perfume that he didn’t recognise and yet somehow seemed almost familiar. Strike glanced up to send the wearer away with a curt comment, and the breath left his body.

Standing next to him was the sexiest woman he had ever seen. She wore a midnight blue dress with a hint of sparkle. It clung to her curves, dropped to just below the knee but showed her shapely calves. But what his eyes saw first was the deep plunge in front and the cleavage displayed, pale creamy breasts swelling above the satin. A sapphire pendant nestled just at the top of her cleavage, drawing the eye down. A chignon of red-gold hair was swept high on her head, blue-grey eyes lined with a little kohl, lips painted a deep berry colour.

Without waiting for an answer, she slid onto the stool next to him, placing a silver clutch handbag on the bar. She crossed her legs and the dress rode up a little, a split in the side revealing a slash of creamy thigh. Strike swallowed and tried to remember how to breathe, tried to drag his eyes away. He felt a sudden surge of desire.

The bartender turned up with considerably more speed and friendliness than he had for Strike.

“What would you like?” the mysterious woman asked Strike, her voice soft and low.

He cleared his throat. “Scotch,” he managed.

“On the rocks. Twice.” The woman said to the bartender, smiling. He flushed and hurried away to pour their drinks.

She turned her attention back to Strike, swung her bar stool towards him a little and held out her right hand, elegant manicured fingers extending towards him. “I’m Venetia,” she said, her voice husky. “And you are...?”

“Cormoran.” He took her hand, the lightest of touches, and she smiled. Her hand was cool and slender in his. “Pleased to meet you, Cormoran. May I buy you a drink? You look like you need one.” She withdrew her hand slowly, trailing the perfectly manicured fingernails across his palm as she did so, and he almost jumped in his seat. His brain was scrambling to keep up. But his body wasn’t confused at all, despite - or perhaps because of - the perfume he had never smelled before, dress and bag he had never seen, cleavage so provocatively displayed against all usual behaviour. Desire coursed through him.

She looked at him coolly, and he saw a tiny twinkle in the back of her eyes. “So, Cormoran, what brings you here?”

“Er, work,” he said, unsteadily. He couldn’t stop staring at her. A single red curl had escaped the chignon and fell down past her ear, sitting softly against the side of her neck. He longed to touch it, to feel it silky and soft between his big, calloused fingers.

“Away on business?” she said, with an eyebrow raised. She glanced at his left hand. “And no wedding ring. So you’re... available?”

His conversation with Robin suddenly made sense. “I’m actually in a relationship,” he said. “But it’s... flexible.”

Venetia smiled, and suddenly all he could think about was kissing that smile, devouring those dark berry lips, kissing away the lipstick. The bar seemed much warmer than it had ten minutes ago. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you spending the evening talking to me,” she said, huskily. Her tongue touched her lips, lightly, and he knew she had seen his hungry gaze. He pulled his eyes away and looked down at his drink.

“So what brings you here, Venetia?” he asked, forcing a more normal tone to his voice. He suddenly really needed a cigarette.

She gave a soft, throaty laugh. “I’m working too, actually,” she said. “I’ve been sent by a client to watch her boyfriend and see if he’s being unfaithful.” She cast a sideways glance at him.

“And is he?” Strike asked, his eyes meeting hers again. She held his gaze, her eyes looking into his soul, until he had to look away again. The smoking area was calling him. “I don’t know yet,” she said, softly. She stood, taller than him in sky high heels as he sat on the stool. Then she picked up her bag and her drink and walked away.

Strike was nonplussed all over again. Where was she going? But she glanced back at him, her eyebrow raised, so he stood too, the ache of his leg forgotten. He drained the second pint of bitter, slid his phone back into his pocket, picked up his whisky and followed her. She looked magnificent from behind, the dress hugging the curves of her bottom and floating around her knees, her calves shapely and sexy above glittery spiked heels. He would have followed her anywhere.

She stepped through a side door and out onto the patio, the cool evening air greeting them. Its gentle touch was welcome on his heated skin. The patio was deserted apart from them. To his astonishment, she removed a pack of slim cigarettes from her clutch bag. “Do you have a light?” she asked, putting one to her berry lips.

Unable to speak, he brought out his own cigarettes and lighter. He struck the lighter and cupped his hands around it in the evening breeze as she bent her head to it. The nape of her neck was exposed to his gaze, that unfamiliar perfume in his nostrils, the escaped tendril of hair brushing the back of his hand. He was struggling to keep his thoughts under control. He wanted to trail his lips down that soft skin, brush away the lock of hair, bury his face in the curve of her shoulder.

She drew away, cigarette lit, drawing deeply on it. He was mesmerised. She removed the cigarette from her mouth and exhaled the smoke away from him, tendrils of it curling in the air. Strike was just staring now. Smoking was a gritty, unhealthy habit he had picked up in his Army days. It wasn’t supposed to be sexy, but he had never seen anything so seductive.

She smiled at him, and again he had to wrench his eyes away. He lit his own cigarette, taking a deep drag and deriving comfort from the familiar feeling of it on a night that was turning everything he knew on its head.

“So, where’s your girlfriend tonight?” Venetia asked, coolly. She leaned her hips against one of the wooden patio tables, a long leg extended in front of her, the high spiked heel resting against the flagstones. The dress stretched tight across her thighs and he felt a pulse of arousal in his groin.

“She’s at my flat in London, holding the fort there and at our office this week while I’m on this job,” he said, cautiously, wondering where this was going.

“London?” she raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “That’s a long way from Chester.” She drew on the cigarette again and he tried not to stare.

“Which is why I haven’t made it back this weekend,” he said. He took a gulp of his whisky. He was starting to feel a little light-headed, having drunk the two pints quite quickly. “The client insisted I attend the races all day today and wants me back in the office first thing Monday.”

“What is it you’re doing for them?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “Confidential.”

She smiled at him, berry lips curving upward. “How very mysterious,” she said. “I like mysterious. It’s... sexy.” She reached up to tuck the wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and Strike swallowed hard.

“So, tell me about your job,” he said. “Why are you here?”

She looked at him appraisingly. “Also confidential,” she said. “Let’s just say my client thought her boyfriend might be... lonely, shall we say, and might be tempted to seek comfort elsewhere while he’s away.”

“Does she think he’s that kind of man?” Strike was beginning to enjoy this, the back-and-forth banter. He took another drag of his cigarette. The lights from the rooms above were glinting gold in her hair, and the breeze had freed the curl from behind her ear again.

“I think she felt that, if he got the right offer, he might be tempted,” she said, and took a sip of her Scotch, her clear blue-grey eyes holding his.

“Did she say what sort of offer she thought might tempt him?” he asked. He stepped towards her suddenly, and her eyes widened. He reached forward, heard her breath catch, and leaned past her to grind out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table behind her. He stepped back again and heard her let the breath out, shakily. He felt a stab of triumph at having managed to unnerve her. He’d been on the back foot since she’d appeared at his elbow.

He saw the slight change in her stance as she squared her shoulders a little, regaining control. “She gave me some hints,” she said. She finished her cigarette and turned to stub it out. He admired the curve of her back in the perfectly fitting dress. God, she was hot. He wondered if she could tell that he fancied her.

“Hints?” he raised one eyebrow. “Are you supposed to be seducing him?”

“Perhaps, if it’s possible,” she said, coolly. “Apparently he likes women in high heels.”

He ran his gaze down her body, lingering on the curve of her hip and then running down her legs to the glittering spikes on her shoes. “Those are certainly high heels,” he said. His eyes ran slowly back up, pausing this time to take in her cleavage. When he returned his gaze to her face, she was flushed. She had seen him looking. He’d intended her to.

“What else?” he asked. He drained his Scotch and stepped forward again to place his glass on the table, but this time he didn’t step back. She had to tilt her head a little, now, to look up at him, but she held her ground.

“Pinned up hair, I’m told,” she said. “Especially when it’s loosely pinned, easy to take down.” This close, he could smell that perfume again, much spicier than Robin’s, and he could see a pulse in her neck that was just a little faster than it should have been. She was playing it cool, but he was having an effect on her too, he could tell.

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice a little husky now. Desire fizzed around his body. He had a glorious view of her cleavage from this angle, could see the swell of her breasts as she breathed a little unevenly. The sapphire nestled just in the spot he longed to kiss, almost dipping down between her breasts but not quite.

“Lacy underwear,” she said, “which I think he’ll be quite excited by if he gets that far. The briefer the better, I was told.”

Strike took a shuddering breath, his imagination running riot as to what might be under that figure-hugging dress. Thus far he had mostly managed to keep a rein on his body’s responses, but now he could feel himself swelling against the front of his trousers. He saw her glance down, and back up, a knowing little smile on her face, desire in her eyes.

“What do you think?” she asked, her voice hoarse now. She took a shaky breath, and he could see a flush spread across her chest and up her neck. “Think I might be able to seduce him?”

“God, I think you could seduce anyone,” he said, and kissed her. Her mouth was soft and tasted of whisky and smoke. Her perfume filled his nostrils, spicy and musky now with her arousal. The scent made him feel almost giddy. Her lips parted for him and his tongue thrust forward. His hand was on the bare nape of her neck, his thumb stroking up to her jaw. She gave a little moan, her hands coming up to his collar to pull him closer. He kissed her deeply, arousal surging in his groin.

She pulled back as the door behind him opened. She turned away, the flush rising up her neck visible only to him as he stepped back a little. Two more smokers emerged from the bar area, looked at them curiously and moved away to one of the other tables, chatting and lighting cigarettes.

Venetia straightened up and smiled at him softly. “I’ll fetch us some more drinks,” she said huskily. She picked up their glasses and walked away. Strike made a sound of protest - he couldn’t follow her, with his erection pressing hard against the front of his trousers, and she was leaving him exposed, which she knew, he could tell from the curve of her smile as she’d stepped past him. He dropped into one of the patio chairs, his back to the other smokers, his jacket hiding his arousal somewhat. From here he could see her through the glass door as she walked away across the bar, and admired the glorious view of her backside in that dress, the high, high heels and the way they accentuated the shape of her legs, the sweep of her hair up the back of her head, the curve of her shoulder. He pulled his eyes away and lit another cigarette, deliberately slowing his breathing. He smoked and gazed across the patio, trying to bring his body under some kind of control.

The barman arrived to serve her immediately again, he noted with amusement when he glanced back in through the door, and while she was waiting for the drinks, a handsome young man in a suit appeared at her elbow and struck up a conversation. Strike watched as they chatted, seeing a beautiful woman in a seductive dress being picked up by a stranger in a bar, and felt both jealousy and desire at the sight. He saw her laugh, tuck the strand of hair behind her ear again. He sighed, ran a hand through his unruly hair, looked away. Not for the first time in his life, he found himself wondering what such a woman was doing spending her evening with him when she could clearly have her pick of guys. Watching her flirt lightly with another man was kind of hot, though, and his eyes were drawn irresistibly back. He saw the way the young man’s gaze followed her as she took her leave and headed back towards the patio door, carrying two more whiskys.

She stepped back outside, and he stood, his body a little more under control now. He stubbed out his cigarette and looked at her. She was almost as tall as him in those heels. She smiled seductively at him and motioned with one of the glasses in her hands.

“Shall we take these upstairs?” she asked. “Nightcap?”

He grinned at her and took the proffered Scotch. “I thought you’d managed to pick someone else up in there,” he said, nodding towards the bar. She raised an eyebrow.

“Jealous, Cormoran?” she asked softly, and he flushed a little. “What would your girlfriend think of that, I wonder,” she said, smoothly. “I don’t think it’s any of your business who Venetia Hall spends her evening with.” She was so cool, so collected. He wanted to get under her skin, disrupt that serenity, make her feel as hot and bothered as he had since she arrived.

She glanced back towards the bar and tossed her head a little. “But anyway, he was just a boy,” she said, dismissively. “A handsome boy, but still a boy. I prefer my men a little more... masculine.” Her eyes raked across his broad shoulders in the dark navy jacket, the crisp white shift open at the neck, the spring of dark chest hair just visible. Desire flickered in her gaze as she raised her eyes back to his.

“I’m bored of talking,” she said, abruptly. “Which is your room?”

“Let me show you,” he said, huskily. He held the door open for her to precede him into the bar, inhaling a hint of that spicy perfume again as she stepped past him, and followed her to the lifts. The bartender was careful not to notice him taking a woman he had just met in the bar twenty minutes ago up to his room, and he was thankful for the discretion.

To Strike’s frustration, they weren’t alone in the lift. Another couple were heading to the same floor. Polite smiles were exchanged and they all stood in silence. Strike was hyperaware of the stunning woman next to him, the glimmer of her dress, the softness of her hair, that cleavage... He had planned to kiss her in the lift, a clear image in his head of pressing her to the wall, hands starting to undo the twist in her hair, its tresses falling around his fingers. He took an unsteady breath, and caught her sideways glance at the sound. Her tongue brushed over her top lip briefly, and desire surged through him. He hurriedly looked away, and she smiled, satisfied.

They strolled to his room. In the hush of the carpeted corridor, he could hear the whisper of her dress against her thighs with each step she took. Tension was mounting within him, images in his head of what he wanted to do with her when they were alone.

He fumbled with the key card at his door, hands shaking, and she took it from him, her fingers brushing his, and smoothly slid it through the reader and opened the door.

He pulled her into the room, kicked the door closed behind them and kissed her, pressing her up against the wall. She responded eagerly, one hand holding her Scotch aside so as not to spill it, the other in his hair, pulling him closer, her mouth opening for him... and then she pulled away, slid out of his grasp and walked off to the centre of the room. He groaned in frustration at the loss of her.

She turned and looked at him, standing there bold and exquisite in the middle of his hotel room. He stood and gazed at her, taking in every inch - especially that remarkable cleavage - his eyes hungry, but he made no move towards her, waiting to see what she intended.

“So, Cormoran,” she said, her voice husky, sexy, one hand on her hip. She sipped her whisky. “What would you like to do this evening?”

He took a gulp of his own drink and raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled seductively. “Specifically, I mean,” she said. “Anything in particular? Something you maybe... don’t get at home?”

He grinned. “Nice try, Miss Hall,” he said. “I assume you’re reporting back to your client. I can assure you I have no complaints in that department whatsoever.” She flushed and looked away for a moment.

Her gaze returned to his, bold again. “So why have you brought me up to your hotel room?” she asked, pointedly.

He moved towards her now, unable to stay away. “A bit of variety never hurt,” he said, softly. “And like I said, things are flexible. We have an arrangement. Apparently.” He reached out a hand to touch that strand of hair, loose against her cheek, one eyebrow raising just slightly at her.

She almost giggled. He saw the amusement flash across her face, saw her lips twitch as if to smile, but she held character and raised her chin boldly. She took his empty glass, moved away from him again, crossing the room to the desk. She swallowed the rest of her Scotch, put the glasses down and turned back to him. Leaning her hips against the desk, she beckoned him towards her, seduction in her eyes. He went to her eagerly, and she smiled. “Where would you like to start?”

“I would have thought that’s obvious,” he said, hoarsely, and bent to bury his face in the cleavage he had longed to explore since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He breathed the hint of perfume she had spritzed there, felt the soft rise of her flesh against him as she gasped. He kissed and gently sucked at her creamy skin, and she moaned and wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him closer, leaning back against the desk to give him better access. It was all he could do not to bite at her deliciousness. He contented himself with trailing kisses across every bit of exposed flesh, his large hands moving to cup her breasts at the sides, thumbs rasping over nipples which were only just out of sight beneath the edge of the dress. Her head dropped back as she sighed with pleasure, her throat exposed to him, and his kisses travelled upwards across the pulse in her throat to the side of her neck.

His hands moved to her hair to loosen the pins holding it in place, but she captured them in hers, stopping him. “Not yet,” she whispered, and eased him away, turning her back to him and reaching behind herself for the zip on her dress. He moved to help at once, sliding the zip down to her waist, and she turned back towards him. She pushed him away a little and peeled the dress away from her body, dropping it to the floor and stepping out of it.

He stepped back and just gazed at her. Her bra and knickers were a shade of mulberry that perfectly matched her lipstick. The sheer fabric left almost nothing to the imagination, almost see-through with small coils of dark lace giving a little coverage. The bra defied gravity, holding her breasts up and pressed together to create that impressive cleavage without help from the dress, and the tiny triangle of the knickers covered just enough to tease. As she turned her hip slightly to push the dress away with her foot, he could see that they were a thong back. She still wore the glittery sky high heels, her hair still swept up, neck long and exposed. The curve of her stomach and hip, the swell of her breasts, the swing of her hip, the grace of her neck... he couldn’t stop staring.

“Christ,” he muttered, and couldn’t think of any more words. She smiled at him, confident, powerful. “You like?”

“God, yes,” he murmured. “Come here.” She stepped up to him and reached up to kiss him, her breasts pressed against his chest, then began to undo his shirt buttons. Strike pulled his jacket off and threw it on the chair. Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her and kissed her, hot and hungry. She pressed her body to his, arching into him, moving her hips against his erection, and he shuddered, aching with desire.

His hands were sliding up now and into her hair, finding the ends of pins and pulling them so that the red-gold tresses tumbled down around her neck. She must have spritzed the perfume into her hair, too, for a fresh wave of scent tumbled down with her hair, and arousal pulsed deep inside him, tension building. He groaned and buried his face in her hair, breathing her, drinking her in.

“Sit down,” she whispered.

He looked around. “Where?”

“On the bed, against the pillows,” she instructed, and he obeyed. She climbed onto the bed with him, still wearing the heels, and undid his trousers, helping him out of them and his boxers. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. She gently, tenderly unstrapped his prosthetic leg and removed it. Then she stood again, statuesque in the skimpy underwear and high, high heels. She was so sexy, so confident, and he was mesmerised by the sight of her. Slowly, her eyes on his, she removed the tiny knickers, and then she climbed onto the bed again and straddled him. His face was in that glorious cleavage again, kissing and exploring, and she moved gently against him. He was concentrating on the smell of her, the taste of her, the creamy swell of her breasts, when she suddenly thrust herself down onto him, forcing her tight, wet heat over his erection, and he cried out in shock and pleasure.

“Fuck, R... Venetia,” he groaned. “That’s incredible, don’t stop...”

She slid all the way back up, slowly, and paused, almost off him, just the tip of him still inside her. He flexed his hips but she had control, sat upright as he was. He moaned in frustration, and after a pause she thrust down onto him again and he gasped and groaned again, burying his face in her neck, in her hair.

She repeated the move, but there was no rhythm, no way to tell when her next movement would be. Sometimes she would thrust onto him several times in a row, then she would pause again. Sometimes she completely withdrew, teasing him. He was so aroused, so frustrated, the pleasure of each thrust so great, the tension building. He knew he wasn’t going to last long if she continued. He grasped at her hips, seeking to control the movement, trying to create a rhythm, but she took his hands and pushed them away, pinning them to the headboard with hers, bracing her arms and leaning in to him so that her cleavage was pushed towards his face, and again she hovered above him, waiting a few beats and then thrusting down onto him.

Strike shuddered and swore, pleasure pulsing through his body, and looked up at her, at her glorious beauty, her confidence, her determination to dominate, to control. She looked incredible and so sexy, and he shook with arousal and longing at the sight of her. His whole body was quivering with pleasure and need, and he could feel his self-control disintegrating. She raised herself a little and thrust downwards again and he groaned.

“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” he warned, shakily. She tossed her head again, bold and confident. “That’s the idea,” she said, huskily, and pushed down onto him again. Strike almost lost control then, could feel the throbbing building within him, and she must have felt it too because she stopped moving. There was a pause while he tried to regain control of his body, his breath ragged, then she slowly, slowly slid off him again and held herself above him. She looked deep into his eyes, hers dark with arousal too, and he could see she was just as close to the edge as he was. One beat, two... and then she thrust down over him again and his body responded instantly, a cry escaping him as he came, jerking his head back and pulsing into her, feeling her contract around him as she reached orgasm too, thrusting against him now, panting into his ear, still pinning his hands to the headboard. She collapsed against his neck, letting go of his hands, and he wrapped his arms around her, shuddering against her.

Slowly their breathing began to return to normal. She sat up and smiled at him, but the confident air was still there in the angle of her head, the lift of her chin. He grinned.

“Thank you, Venetia,” he said, still a little breathless. “That was amazing.”

She looked at him appraisingly. “I guess it was possible to seduce you,” she said with a curving smile. He grinned again. “Only you could have done it,” he said. “You’re irresistible.”

She climbed off him and turned away, kicked off the heels to join her dress on the floor, and undid her bra and tossed it aside too. She returned to him in the bed. He slid down and she laid her head on his chest and then reached up for the light switch, plunging them into darkness. She kissed him slowly, languorously for a while until the combination of exhaustion, alcohol and satisfaction dragged him down into sleep.

At some point in the deep of the night, Strike awoke to the feel of her body over his. She had eased herself over him as he slept and was straddling him, her head buried in his neck, kissing and running her tongue across his shoulder and up his neck. Her breasts were pressed against his naked chest.

“Ro...” he began, but she kissed him on the mouth, silencing him. “Shh,” she whispered. Silently she carried on, kissing and stroking, and his sleepy body responded. The moment he was hard, she slid onto him, and slowly, slowly made love to him, allowing the rhythm and pleasure to build gradually until he was desperate for her to move faster. Still silent, the only sounds in the room their ragged breathing, she carried on gently, sighing against him now, letting the heat rise between them slowly, the ache in his groin increasing bit by bit until he could bear it no longer. Her rhythm suddenly faltered and she gave a little gasp, and he felt her orgasm ripple through her. He clutched at her hips, trying to move her faster, longing for his own release, but still she moved steadily. He was rocking up against her now, desperately seeking relief, and then she turned her head slightly and bit gently at the skin below his ear. His back arched as he came, thrusting up into her, breath ragged, and she collapsed onto him, her arms cradling his head, sighing into his ear. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. After a few moments she eased off him and sank down next to him. They drifted back into sleep without a word exchanged.

When he next woke, it was light and she was gone. A faint hint of that spicy perfume lingered in the air, on the pillow, on his body. A note was propped on his bedside table.

“That was fun. I hope we meet again some day. V.”

Strike lay back on his pillow, reading the note again, his body relaxed and still humming with pleasure, and laughed to himself. Then he got up and headed for the shower.

As he dressed, contemplating with satisfaction the generous breakfast and copious quantities of coffee awaiting him in the restaurant downstairs, his phone pinged. It was Robin.

“Morning, handsome. How was your evening? Missing you. Rxx”

Smiling, he texted back. “Boring. TV and bed. Missing you too, looking forward to getting home x”

Hall pass, he thought. He laughed, tossed the phone down onto the bed and headed out for breakfast.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this months and months ago, but in the end didn’t post it because I worried it was too similar to a piece by the wonderful Lindmea. And then I was reminded of it by Southbroom’s recent piece with Robin smoking. So I decided to put it out there.


End file.
